


Carrion Heart

by stardropdream



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All I know is that I'm yours to command," Lancelot says. And so Morgana takes him at his word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrion Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "erotic novel cover", which is kind of a difficult prompt to fill. But I decided to go with the Lancelot du Lac episode if only because, it's pretty much an erotic novel plot summary, and/or a soap opera. Also, first time writing Morgana, so that's exciting.

She holds the disk heavy in her hand and she runs her thumb over it. She knows what this will bring, she knows what this will be mean – but it will be worth it. It will be worth it, if only to rid her of this pestilence that plagues her very being, the raw anger and pain of betrayal at knowing that _she_ and _him_ will soon rule what is rightfully hers. The anger is enough to drag through her rigid heart, reawaken old feelings she’s long since tried to let go of – of the envy, of the longing, of the anger, the bitter, palpable anger of betrayal—

She casts out the disk.

 

_She thinks of the gentle fingers – the way they touched her, the way they dressed her, the easy, simple way with which they made her come undone, as if it were so simple to simply unbutton her from the soul inward— Thinks of the way she looked up and there was a smile always waiting— And how painful, to give one’s heart to someone who will only ever betray you._

 

He rises from the water. 

“My name is Lancelot, my lady,” he says, bowing a little, hair dripping and his lips slightly parted. She watches him, watches the way he looks at her, as he say, “I am yours to command.” 

She smiles to herself, pleased, and leads him away, her fingers empty of the coin she’d cast to the lake. Lancelot follows her, obediently, silently. 

Dressing Lancelot is another matter. The clothes she finds are in the simple style of the once knight, but darker than the colors he once favored – as far as she knew. Her time in Camelot, fleeting now, a disgusting memory of what should be rightfully hers, remembers a knight bestowed to Arthur only to be taken away in shame of deceit. Her lip curls to think of Uther now, and she does not linger on it. 

Instead, she dresses him. He stands, silent, moving obediently where she indicates but not the least bit aware or ashamed of his nudity. It is just as well, considering what it is she plans for him. His hair is still slightly damp.

 

_It’d been painfully simple, back then, to unbraid Morgana to nothing but a deep longing. She’d lie, sprawled across her bed, her hair lying flat behind her, and she’d look up and find Gwen smiling down at her, expression always so gentle, always so nurturing and pampering, as if Morgana were something precious. Oh, she remembers that time. And she remembers the lengths for which she would go to save Gwen. Remembers the anger and pain of knowing that she was far away, locked away, mistaken for her own self. She remembers the bitter, disgusting hatred she felt towards Uther in those moments – that he should let Gwen die. That he should not realize just how important Gwen was. Is. Was. She remembers Gwen’s eyes when she returned, how she’d look faraway beyond the window, thinking, undoubtedly, of a man who’d since departed – left her to be Arthur’s, her_ brother’s _as if there were anything more disgusting. She remembers how painfully the envy had twisted – how truly and completely she wanted Gwen to look at her in such a way, and—_

 

Lancelot sits, and she goes about her business in preparation – gathering what little knowledge she has of this knight, but, it should be enough to sufficiently deceive – especially Arthur, the unwise, trusting fool that he is. Her accounts from Agravaine, from Arthur himself from long ago, should be enough to suitably deceive. Her accounts from Gwen, telling her of her ordeals, telling her of finding Lancelot again after so long. 

“You must be tired,” she says as she catches his eye. He wakes to the sound of her voice. “You’ve been on a journey few have ever dreamed of.” 

He regards her, and says, “I know not where I have been, my lady, only that I am yours.”

Before Morgana can answer, he reaches for his sword, and she tuts a bit, stepping to him. “Slow down. You won’t be needing that. Not yet. We have work to do, but it’s not your sword I require much as your heart.” 

He looks to her, a willing vessel, and she thinks of how Gwen’s heart might rip from her chest upon seeing him. She wonders if she thinks of Lancelot at all – or if her heart is fully, completely given to Arthur now. 

She wonders if Gwen thinks of her at all, or if she’s deluded herself into believing Morgana nothing more than a shadow of a time long gone.

 

\---

 

She pushes him down, drags his tunic down off his shoulders. He looks at her, impassive. 

“It’s necessary that you deceive them both – deceive them all. If you don’t, what needs to be done won’t be accomplished.” Her hands touch his chest, and he does not respond, but she can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. How refreshing it is, to hold the image of a man like this in her will – the image of a man who once owned Gwen’s heart. May still own it now. “If you don’t properly convince her that you are the real Lancelot, it will be for naught.” 

“As you command, my lady,” Lancelot murmurs. 

“Kinder,” Morgana says. “You must be so unbearably kind that it’s almost disgusting. Generous. Gracious. Honorable. You remember what I’ve told you.”

“Yes,” replies Lancelot. 

“Will you do as I command?” Morgana says.

 

_She’d asked that of Gwen once, and Gwen had laughed, the laughter crinkling the corners of her eyes, her lips curling upwards, her fingers on the bare line of her stomach, the gentle underside of her breasts. “Of course, my lady,” Gwen had laughed, and then leaned in and kissed her – sweet and simple and real and Morgana had melted beneath her._

 

He strips him of his clothes, and he lifts his hips, allows her that – and he is stretched out beneath her, naked and still, hair in his eyes. She takes his hands, pins it down above his head, lies down over the length of him and rocks her hips forward until his cock begins to thicken between them. 

“Let her take the lead,” Morgana whispers to his lips as she kisses him. “But do not be afraid to do as you see fit, as well. She likes it. She likes for it to be equal.” 

“Yes, my lady,” Lancelot murmurs. 

“Think of her pleasure before your own.”

“Yes, my lady.” 

“I’ll show you exactly what she wants.”

“Please, my lady.”

 

_Gwen, stretched out below her, smiling up at her – her eyes gentle, her eyes alight— And they laugh, they laugh and press their foreheads together, cup each other’s cheeks, kiss until the early morning melts to late early afternoon, and Morgana feels like she’ll never get enough of Gwen’s mouth, of her lips, of her tongue and her teeth and the soft whisper of her breath pressing against her own._

 

She lifts her dress and does not think of Gwen. 

She straddles Lancelot’s hips and does not think of Gwen. 

The hard line of his cock is different from her, he is all hard lines and unfeeling expression. Gwen was only ever laughter and gentleness, longing and trust. 

And how misplaced it’d been. How easily Morgana had been fooled, to believe that Gwen could be anything other than like the rest of them. 

She takes his hand, guides it between her legs, presses his fingers against her clit as she writhes down onto his cock. He looks at her, blinking once, impassive and she tuts. 

“No, you can’t look like that,” she chides, and touches his face with her free hand, guiding his other to press up against her as she slides down against him. “You have to look at her as if she is everything – the stars and the moon and the earth below. And she is sensible… if she are not convincing, she will know you have deceived her. Although it will be too late by then, for the deep will be done.” 

His fingers slide against her, thumb pressing to her clit and then circling, and she breathes out, letting her hair tumble over her shoulders as she nods and rocks her hips.

“She is generous, too. She will want you to come first.” She can remember, the way Gwen would look at her sometimes, the way she would lean over her, the way she would touch her in the mornings, like she was precious – and how cruel it is, to have such a betrayer for a friend, to have given so much of herself to someone who would snub it in favor of an unworthy brother. He’s looking at her and she turns her attention back to this shade of Lancelot, and smiles, low and secretive, “Ah, but you are of a generous heart, Sir Lancelot. You will not allow to seek your own pleasure before hers is properly satisfied. So it will become a battle of wills. Who shall come first?” 

He rocks his hips up a little, eyes flickering down as he cups her breast in one hand, his other stroking over her, small circles and simple strokes, sliding down around where his cock enters her and back up again, circling her clit. She writhes, and nods her head. 

“Yes, like that. She’ll like that.” She catches his wrist, eyes flickering to him. “And do you feel anything?”

“Nothing, my lady,” Lancelot says, and then looks up at her, his expression melting into something warm and gentle – nearly perfect, if not for the lack of love in his eyes.

 

_“Everything, my lady,” Gwen whispers against her mouth, pulling back to beam at her when she says, more firmly this time: “I’ll give you everything.”_


End file.
